Word count: 1973

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 gathered in the living room, their eyes all fixated on the small television that was playing a tape that Allison had found.

There, in black-and-white film, Grace watched as Reginald gasped and grabbed at his heart. Their robot mother, however, did not seem to care in the least as she turned and walked towards the open door, a gracious smile on her face.

"I mean, do you really think Mom would hurt Dad?" Elizabeth questioned dubiously as the tape continued playing, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked towards the others to gauge their reactions.

"You haven't been home in a long time, Elizabeth." Luther turned to her, his voice grim as he shook his head. "Maybe you don't know Grace anymore."

"If he was poisoned," Diego lightly suggested as his gaze shifted towards Luther, "it would have shown in the coroner's report."

"Actually, something like potassium chloride might not show up in the autopsy report; it breaks down into elements that are natural in the body and could easily be overlooked," Elizabeth interjected as she watched the TV. "It causes severe heart arrhythmias and mimics a heart attack."

Diego turned to her with a look of incredulity, causing her eyes to widen.

"But," she corrected hastily with a cough, "it has to be injected. The coroner's report would've shown that there was some form of injection site."

"Well, I don't need a report to tell me what I can see with my own eyes," Luther scoffed, his face scrunching up.

Diego nodded in amusement as he played with his knife. "Maybe all that low gravity in space messed with your vision." He stepped forward and replayed the tape, and nodded towards it. "Look closer. Dad has his monocle. Mom stands up. Monocle's gone."

"Oh, yeah!" Klaus giggled as he snacked on a bag of chips (which was part of what remained of the goods he had stolen earlier).

"She wasn't poisoning him," Diego reasoned as he walked back towards the table. "She was . . . taking it. To clean it."

Everyone turned to face Diego, sensing an argument coming on, and Luther only reinforced the belief.

"Then where is it? No, I've searched the house, including her things." He shook his head as he insisted, "She doesn't have it."

Diego stared at the ground for a moment as he sat back on the small table. "She doesn't have it." He paused for a moment, seeming to debate something in his head before he reluctantly added, "Because I took it from her. After the funeral."

Elizabeth's eyebrows furrowed, and bafflement completely took over her. Why the hell would he have done that?

And then, she felt herself become overwhelmed with worry. Though she was sure he had a good reason, she was more than sure that the others would immediately suspect him of murdering Reginald—after all, if any of them had done it, it would've been him. 

"You've had the monocle this whole time?" Allison exclaimed incredulously, her whiskey sloshing around in the crystal glass as she turned towards him. "What the hell, Diego?"

Luther extended his hand towards him, palm up, furiously demanding, "Give it to me."

Diego's eyes flicked over to Luther as his face turned to the side. "I threw it away."

"You what?" Luther breathed out, his eyes wide.

"Look" —Diego stood up, jabbing his knife in Luther's direction as he accused— "I knew that if you found it on Mom, you'd lose your shit, just like you're doing right now."

"Diego, you son of a bitch," Luther growled as Diego brought his hands up in a fighting position.

"Hey. No. Calm down." Elizabeth placed a hand on Diego's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. 

He glanced over towards her and lowered his fists with a sigh. 

Earnestly, she looked towards Luther and began, "Look, after the time I got . . . well, you know . . . hurt . . ."

"You mean the time when Diego almost killed you?" Luther questioned ruthlessly, his hardened eyes still set on Diego's.

Diego's jaw clenched, and Elizabeth felt his shoulders tense from under her hand.

"Hey, no, no, that's not the point I was trying to make," Elizabeth sighed, patting Diego's shoulder slightly to reassure him. "No. I was talking to Mom while she was healing me and she said that not only was she designed to be a caretaker, but . . . also as a protector."

Allison furrowed her eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

Elizabeth frowned. "She was programmed to intervene if someone's life was in jeopardy."

"Well, if her hardware is degrading, then . . ." Luther sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "We need to turn her off."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait." Diego immediately exclaimed as he raised a hand in the air, shaking his head furiously. "She's not just a vacuum cleaner you can throw in a closet. She feels things, I've seen it!"

"She just stood there, Diego, and watched our father die," Luther tried to reason as he gestured towards the TV behind him.

Allison looked down at her drink and remained silent for a moment. She heaved a sigh before agreeing, "I'm with Luther."

Diego turned to her, scoffing, "Surprise, surprise."

"Oh, shut up," Allison said irritably.

Diego and Luther then turned to Vanya, who was standing right next to them. Her eyes nervously flitted between both boys. "I . . . I don't . . ."

"Yeah, she shouldn't get a vote," Diego said dismissively.

Elizabeth elbowed him. This felt a lot like old times.

Diego rolled his eyes before giving in. "What is it, Vanya? Whose side?"

"I'm with—I'm with Luther."

"Dammit," Diego muttered before turning to Klaus, who was leaning against one of the marble columns. "What about you, stoner boy? What do you got?"

Klaus looked up at them with surprise, his eyebrows high. "Oh, so, what? You need my help now? Oh, 'Get out of the van, Klaus!' 'Well, welcome back to the van!'"

Allison's face scrunched in confusion. "What van?"

Luther sighed, shaking his head. "What's it gonna be, Klaus?"

"I'm with Diego, because screw you!" Klaus exclaimed indignantly. "And if Ben were here, he'd agree with me." He then snarled to the right of him, although that wasn't really unusual behaviour for Klaus.

"Goldie?" Diego turned to her, his expression now slightly skittish. "You're with me, right?"

"Of course. We can't turn Mom off, that's stupid." Elizabeth folded her arms, receiving a relieved smile from him.

"So that's three" —Diego raised three fingers on one hand before lifting three on the other— "to three."

"Wait," Allison spoke, causing everyone to turn to her. "Vote's not final yet. Five's not here. The whole family has to vote, we owe each other that."

"We should wait." Vanya nodded.

And with that, the family departed the living room.

Elizabeth's eyes flitted past them and towards the back of the room, and she suddenly felt her heart rate spike; Grace was standing in one of the archways, watching them. Her pink skirt that was dotted with black stood out against the brown wood, and she looked rather saddened as her hands folded across her stomach.

Elizabeth poked Diego and Vanya, who were the only other ones that remained, and nodded toward their mother.

"Shit," Diego muttered before setting off towards her, the other two following close behind. He placed a hand on Grace's shoulder. "Hey. How long you been here?"

Their mother's attention slowly drew to them and it seemed as though she had just registered that they were in the room with her. "You all seem upset. I'll make cookies." A smile spread onto her face before she hurried off towards her kitchen.

Vanya stared at her leaving figure, her forehead creased as she slowly pondered aloud, "Do you ever wonder . . . All those moments with Mom, the things she said. Like, was it her, or was it really Dad?"

Elizabeth turned to face her, her eyebrows knit closely together. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, he built her." Vanya shrugged. "And he programmed her to be a mom, to be our mom. Sometimes when I look at her, I just see him."

"Maybe that was true at first," Diego admitted with a sigh. "But she evolved."

"How do you know?" Vanya questioned as she turned towards him.

Diego gave her a bitter smile. "Because Dad only loved himself."

—☾—

Diego and Elizabeth tentatively approached their mother as she sat in her charging station.

Elizabeth's eyes gazed over the many portraits that were framed in gold—of people, of early mornings by the sea, of random trails that were filled with trees and soaring birds that you could practically hear twittering—which were all hung along the blue wall, with lights clarifying each stroke of a paintbrush.

Grace was sitting at her usual chair in front of the paintings, her attention solely focused on the cross-stitch in her hands as she hummed a light melody that Elizabeth's ears could faintly recognize.

Diego's eyes wandered over the paintings as they approached, though he soon lowered his gaze to the ground. "Mom, we need to talk."

"Okay, but only for a minute," Grace replied as she kept her concentration on her stitching. "I need to finish this cross-stitch."

Diego looked towards a particularly large painting in front of him, which showed a castle from a far view. "Everything you did for us when we were kids . . . for me . . . why'd you do it?"

Grace paused her craft, turning to them as an endearing smile grew on her face. "Because being your mother is the greatest gift of my life."

Diego stared at her for a moment before stepping forward and crouching slightly, peering so intently into her face that it seemed that he was trying to see what lay underneath. "Is that you saying that?"

Grace tilted her head, her eyebrows scrunching together slightly as she responded, "I'm not sure what you mean, Diego."

"Our father, he . . . made you," Elizabeth added. "When you think something, is it like he's telling you what to say?"

"Your father isn't here, silly," Grace chuckled. Her eyes flitting over the concerned faces in front of her, her expression soon became troubled. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's . . . it's not . . . Look." Diego grabbed the arm of the chair beside Grace's and crouched down, his eyes intently looking into hers. "It's okay . . . if you hated him. He was terrible to you, to all of us."

Grace's face became stern as she chided, "Don't say that."

"Why not? We were just tools in an experiment to him. Nothing more. So I'm saying, I would understand if" —Diego put a hand on hers, hesitating for a moment before looking behind him. He continued— "you know, if . . . if you wanted to hurt him."

"Now, now," Grace reassured them as the smile returned to her face, "Mr. Hargreeves was a great man. Industrialist, inventor, Olympic gold medalist." She stood up, her smile now bigger than ever as she gazed up at the portraits and exclaimed, "He made the world a better place!"

"Stop it!" Diego instantly grabbed her shoulders and shook her slightly, causing her eyes to widen in shock. The volume of his voice rose as he told her, "Do you hear me? Stop trying to defend him!"

"Diego," Elizabeth warned quietly. If the others heard what he was saying . . .

Diego swallowed, his fingers tentatively touching her arms. He lowered his voice as he continued, "Mom, you gotta feel something. Look, he treated you worse than anyone. You worked for him for thirty years. He didn't even give you a room to sleep in."

Grace turned to the many paintings on the wall, whose frames shone gold in the light. "But I've got such beautiful views here."

"Mom, those are just paintings," Elizabeth murmured with a frown.

"Of course they are," Grace sighed happily. Her eyes fixated on the painting of a woman, who sat back in a relaxed position on a soft chair. "What a wonderful world she lives in! Sometimes . . . I wonder if she's lonely."